


We're Both a Little Screwed

by samalambis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Older Brother!Sam, PWP, Size Kink, Top!Sam, Younger Brother!Dean, ageswap au, bottom!Dean, deans 16 and sams 20, i guess, kind of considering there is some plot but the rest of it is porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samalambis/pseuds/samalambis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was dirty.  He was wrong and sick and something inside of him must be a little bent.  It has to be, because why else would he be looking at his older brother like this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Both a Little Screwed

**Author's Note:**

> be warned this is not beta'd and its like 5 am i promise nothing

Dean didn’t know when it started, when he started… thinking of Sam like that.  He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it.  He’s tried not to, tried to go out with the girls at whichever school he happened to be attending at the time, but it never worked.  He didn’t feel that spark in his belly, his heart didn’t jump when they looked at him or smiled his way.  He only felt friendship, no matter how many times he told himself that he should feel more.

 

Only Sam made his head go funny and his heart forget what it was supposed to be doing.  He felt bad about it, and it scared him to death sometimes that his big brother noticed, so much so he would adamantly avoid Sam at all costs.  But then Sam would look hurt and Dean would have to put a smile on because his brother tries so hard for him, he wouldn’t dare hurt him because of his dirty secret.  Each time it killed him a bit more, made his shoulders sag and his breath stutter in his chest because there was nothing he could do.  Sam would only ever see him as the little brother he tried so hard to raise in the tyranny of their father’s mad goals.

 

This crush, or lust or whatever, he figured it had something to do with Sam being the one constant in his life.  His earliest memory was of his brother standing over him, smiling down and holding his hands steady so he could stand.  From there all they held was his brother, somewhere, somehow, helping him through the difficulties of their childhood.  He has scarce memories of their father ever being there, because all he ever focused on was Sam.  His big brother who taught him how to walk and talk, tied his shoes and always helped him with his homework when the teachers didn’t explain it clear enough.  It was always Sam and perhaps so much exposure to a person who resembled the very sun screwed his brain a bit during puberty.

 

He always thought everyone got warm in the heart when they were with their siblings.  That everyone’s words fumbled and hands got sweaty just from looking at them.  He didn’t know it was wrong until sixth grade when he shared it with Cassy Simons, who once he told her she immediately backed away from him, eyes wide and mouth agape in horror.  He didn’t know what he did wrong, not until the next day he was being shoved into walls and floors with scorn and people whispering ‘sick freak’ and ‘faggot’ wherever he went.  Even then, he understood nothing of the kids ire, moved around so often he had rarely the time to learn what most of the names he was called meant.

 

When he asked Sam what those words meant he never saw his brother get so angry, his face more ferocious than the times he fought with John.  Dean still didn’t understand any of it, because Sam didn’t tell him anything, only said those kids were assholes and had to be taught a few lessons.  What lessons were needed hadn’t required explaining, the murderous look in Sam’s eyes said enough.  Dean wondered if it made things worse that the sight of his older brother glaring out the windows with balled fists and a tic flinching away in his jaw made him feel warm and excited, heart beating too fast that he had to hide away in the motels bathroom to avoid embarrassing himself.

 

The kids the next day didn’t bother him.  None of the kids looked at him and even scurried off when he went forward to ask where Thompson and his friends were today.  It wasn’t until later, with John yelling at Sam about minding his own damn business while they frantically packed the car, that he learned Sam had beat Tommy and his gang up for bullying Dean.  The kids were hospitalized and they had to leave town before the police sniffed out the trail leading directly to Room 208 at the Hillwood Motel where the Winchesters just so happened to be staying at the time.

 

After that incident Dean learned to never tell anyone how Sam made him felt.  He knew that what he was feeling must be wrong, had to be, because Cassy looked at him like he was a monster and Thompson shoved him to the floor while his friends threw food and yelled slurs and names.  By sixteen he had it set in stone that what he felt really was wrong, taboo and dark and should always be kept a secret.  He tried to shove it into the deep recesses of his mind where he wouldn’t have to look at it and thus never think of it.

 

But it always resurfaced, always came to him in his dreams where large hands slid unmercifully down his sides, marking him just as teeth and tongue did while a voice honey sweet and just as thick whispered sweet nothings.  He would always wake up with sticky shorts and bated breath, the dreams surreal caresses lingering on the edge of his conscious before diving off, burying itself once more as he ashamedly washed himself off before anyone else woke.  Sam’s worried looks and attempts to ask what the matter was made everything worse, made Dean want to shrink in on himself where no one would ever find him, especially Sam with his gentle touches and soothing smiles.

 

He secluded himself so thoroughly since his dreams became all the more vivid he hardly realized that John was nearly gone twenty-four-seven now and that he and Sam hardly talked anymore.  His older brother left on the edges of his periphery, shooting him hurt glances that he steadfastly ignored.  The less he saw of Sam the better, because if Sam thought being ignored was bad, knowing what his little brother hid beneath his conscious mind would be worse.  Dean didn’t want to do that to Sam, didn’t want to be the one to hurt him as bad as this knowledge would.

 

What Dean didn’t realize was by doing this he only worsened his problem, only quickened the process of events which would lead to Sam’s inevitable discovery of Dean’s nasty want for his older brother.  By the time winter vacation hit Sam just stopped trying to talk to him, the cold shoulder now shared between them and John simply ignored their behavior, focusing solely on his hunts.  It soon became too difficult to ignore the brothers volatile actions toward one another when it began to endanger their lives on hunts, so much so when the next one came up John simply dumped them off at a cabin in the woods of Colorado’s mountains with enough money for emergencies supplies and the short order to simply ‘wait’.

 

Dean tried not to panic, he really did, but inevitably, the teen panicked.  There was no way to avoid Sam now, not with them both trapped in this small cabin that had only one bedroom, a small living room and kitchen, and a bathroom hardly worth noting due to its spectacularly tiny size.  He would be forced to face his feelings and Sam’s hurt glances and he didn’t want that, didn’t want this corruption in his brain.  He wanted it gone and so after a week of close courters accompanied with awkward stares and avoidance on both parts he finally snapped and copied what he saw his father do often, turned to alcohol.

 

Which, what a genius he was for conveniently forgetting what happened  _after_ John turned to drinking to avoid his problems.  How could he forget the screaming and yelling and moans about his father’s misery that happened every single time?  Of course he had enough brain cells to wait until Sam left off outside to cool off steam because Dean tried bitching about something dumb so they would have more reasons to avoid each other again while they were stuck together.  It worked, Sam was gone, the liquor cabinet was easily picked open and now Dean was on his third bottle and being someone who never drank before, he found himself an effective term of drunk.

 

Now his mind was open and hazy and every single naughty thought he had locked up spilled free and without much notice on his part he wound up on the bed that Sam claimed (Dean vouched for the couch), half naked and rolling around listlessly, enjoying far too much Sam’s smell that lingered on the blankets and sheets.  He had dropped his third bottle empty on the floor boards by the bed and was lying on his back, giggling nonsensically at the thought of Sam sharing the bed with him, his body big and warm and Dean wouldn’t need a blanket with his elder brother here taking up so much space.  But he was cold, alone here with his thoughts and stumbled upwards, laughing because the world spun and his feet tripled in amount but he still managed to get up, wobbling his way to the pile of clothes on the desk in the far corner of the room.

 

He groped uselessly for a few moments, unsure of how his hands work anymore until his fingers finally managed to grab hold of Sam’s shirt, one of his long sleeved shirts with a few questionable stains but it was worn in and smelled distinctly of his brother and Dean happily put it on.  His bare legs still shivered in the cold air but his torso and arms were now okay because he had Sam’s shirt on, Sam’s big, warm shirt, which swamped his frame and made him shake with delight.  He was giddy with joy and this free feeling because Sam wasn’t here and John was gone and thus he was okay to do whatever he wanted.  No one was here to bother him, he was okay.

 

He stood there for a few more moments, body swaying and hands grabbing at the cloth on his chest before deciding he was in need of another bottle.  Three wasn’t enough, he saw John down way more, so as his son he could obviously do the same.  Dean wasn’t too aware of how long it took him to manage his way to the kitchen, but he was sure it took some time because when he finally had his fourth bottle in hand and open the door to the cabin rattled open and Sam came speeding through the door.   His clothes caked with snow and dropping ice everywhere with his rough movement to slam the door shut.  The teen found it funny, Sam’s panic, wondering why his brother was so cold if he had all of his big big clothes on.  He should be really warm, right? 

 

Dean was going to ask Sam, because he really wanted to know but suddenly Sam was in his face, disbelief clear as one of his large hand crunched the bones of Dean’s right wrist together.  Sharp pain shot through his arm and his hand opened, dropping the freshly opened bottle to the floor, it’s shatter nondistinct to Dean’s ears as all he could focus on was Sam very near his face and the stinging of his wrist.  Dean didn’t know why Sam was so upset, and he tilted his to the side to help him figure it out, mouth opening in a slow grin as he thought that maybe his brother was upset he didn’t share.  He could fix that easily, of course bottle number four was unavailable to share but there was two more left and they could both have one.  Well, Dean would have four and Sam one but it sounded fair enough.

 

“Were you, were you drinking?”  Sam asked, his voice barely contained wrath and Dean didn’t want to deal with anger, so he ignored it.  Logical choice.

 

“Nuh…”  He stopped halfway through his flimsy denial, much too distracted by an icicle melting on Sam’s forehead and following its tantalizing path down his brother’s cheek to chin to neck until it cascaded to the ground, plopping noiselessly on the shards of glass and liquor staining the floor.  Sam made a noise, something Dean didn’t quite understand and the grip on his wrist loosened, the blood flow returning and Dean shed a sigh of relief, fingers flexing as feeling tingled back into his palms.  He was still too giddy to really understand much of anything currently.  He did understand his brother looked hurt though, Sam’s eyes closing as his brow furrowed and mouth shaping a fine line of anger so he slipped an arm around his brother’s neck, pulling him closer and pushing his body fully into Sam’s.

 

Bad idea, because Sam’s clothes were wet from melted snow and very cold and it made him shiver and his nipples perk but he stayed there in hopes his hug would cheer Sam up.  Dean pressed his face into Sam’s neck, having to lean up on his toes because his brother was really tall but he smelled nice and felt good to hold despite the frost chilling Dean to the bone.  Sam tried to lean back, grip slipping off of Dean’s wrist giving Dean the opportune to use both hands to wrap around Sam.  It was easier to hug him this way and he was able to follow his brothers leaning easy.  He dropped all of his weight, making an appreciative sound when Sam easily took the added pressure, strong body holding him up without effort.

 

“Dean, wait, what are you doing?  What are you  _wearing_?”  Sam’s anger now sounded gone, which meant Dean’s hug plan was working, now the young man just sounded confused which was better than nothing.

 

“You smell nice.”  Dean slurred out, hands tightening their hold around Sam’s neck and forcing his brother to curl around him more to avoid cramping.  “Like, like uh, like a big, warm, library.  Filled with, with uhm, trees,  _everywhere_.  Yeah, everywhere.  But it’s all really old, like, really, really, old.”

 

“…What?”  Came Sam’s voice, quiet and lost and Dean laughed.  What was he so confused about?  Dean thought he was pretty clear.

 

“I like…  Like how you smell.”  He said slowly, face nuzzling Sam’s neck and then his older brother finally moved, setting hands on Dean’s shoulders, large and assuring and Dean made a content sound because they felt really nice there.  He thinks they would feel better on his ass, but he didn’t want to say.  The gentle pushing back however, did not feel good, rather annoying and Dean tried his best to stay where he was, clinging harder to Sam’s back.  He wasn’t in a right state of mind however and he was pushed far away enough to where Sam was able to look him in the eyes.  His brother had really pretty eyes, Dean noted as he leaned against Sam’s hands, licking his dry lips as he watched them shift with each emotion that Dean really didn’t have the capacity to figure currently.

 

“You have pretty eyes.”  He blurted out, clumsily as he veered closer, only held off by Sam’s hands a barrier on his shoulders.  Sam’s eyes hardened at that, mouth grimacing and fingers clenching where they gripped Dean.

 

“How much did you drink?”  Sam said, voice low and carefully controlled.  He was pissed, less at Dean, mostly at himself.  He should have seen this coming a mile off, considering how much Dean had been acting out the past four months.  From fighting about anything to avoiding Sam like the plague, Dean clearly wasn’t okay.  Not to mention the subtle looks thrown the liquor cabinet’s way the entire time they’ve been here.  Sam was an idiot for leaving just because he got angry, instead should have sat Dean down and talk with him.  Didn’t work the last few times he’s tried but complaining about something as pointless as Dean did earlier perhaps he would have opened up then.

 

“Only like uh, three bottles.”  Dean said, face crunching in thought a moment before he looked to the ground with a laugh, his hands coming up to grab at Sam’s wrist loosely, more of hanging off of them.  Sam ignored the gentle burning that came from the touch, he had to focus and try to help his little brother the best he can and ignore all the things he shouldn’t be thinking of right now.

 

“Four bottles.  But I didn’t  _drink_  four, you uh, heh, you made me drop four.  You should say sorry.”  Dean made a strange sound, something like laughter as he looked back up at Sam, eyes lidded and fingers dancing over Sam’s wrist.  He had a mirthful grin on his face, tongue once more running over his lower lip as he traced the shape and contours of his older brother’s face.  Sam twitched under the scrutiny, uncomfortable and confused and trying to ignore the small flame that was starting to fan out in his abdomen.

 

“Yeah, you need to, to apologize.”  Dean said softer, voice slurred and vowels stretched and Sam’s grip on his shoulders weakened enough for Dean to lean closer, until his face was right in front of Sam’s and they were both staring at the other.  Somewhere in the recesses of Dean’s mind where he could still think clearly, he was screaming at himself to stop, to hold his horses and quit before he screws everything over royally.  But his body wasn’t responding, clouded over in a haze of alcohol and want, his brother right here, big hands warm as they began to nervously clench harder at his shoulders and Dean really shouldn’t be expected to listen to reason now.

 

“Dean, stop, stop right now.”  Sam said, high and alarmed and yet he made no move to stop his brother, allowing Dean to wrap his arms around his neck once more, drag their faces closer until they were only centimeters apart.  His own hands slid off of Dean’s shoulders, hovering nervously around his little brother’s hips, unable to hold but refusing to drop.

 

“You should stop me.  But, but you won’t.  I know.  Because you won’t.”  Dean muttered nonsensically, eyes now permanently glued to the shape of Sam’s mouth as he spoke.  Sam watched, stupefied, as Dean dragged him the last inch down, their lips colliding softly and his entire brain shut down.  Dean put his all into the kiss, his grip near bruising as he tried his best to get Sam into action, his older brother’s mouth clamped shut and not responding.  Why wasn’t he responding?  Dean focused his best on ignoring the lack of reaction, instead thinking only of how good this felt, his heart beating a mile a minute and his body heating up as his head swam.

 

Sam couldn’t really think right now, and despite how much he dreamed of this happening, he couldn’t feel anything but horror.  He shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t have ever felt arousal at the sight of Dean wearing his shirt and nothing but, Dean in his arms and  _kissing_  him and fuck his brother’s drunk.  He needs to stop this now.  Without his notice he almost began to return the kiss, his hands clamped firmly on Dean’s hips and this needs to end.  His brother wasn’t in the right state of mind, his brother who is only sixteen doesn’t know any better and he’s probably just lonely.  Sam was the adult here, he has to be the beacon of reason here.

 

“Don’t.  Please.  Please don’t.”  Dean said, small and quiet, dropping the kiss to press his face against Sam’s neck again.  He felt Sam’s hands on his hips bunch in tension, prepping to push him away and Dean doesn’t think he could handle that right now.  So maybe Sam didn’t kiss him back, Dean can ignore that, pass it off at shock.  But Sam physically forcing him away?  That Dean can’t ignore.  He didn’t want to deal with any of this, that was the whole point of picking his away into the liquor cabinet, and Sam can’t just waltz in spitting fire and crashing his whole party.

 

Nothing happened for some time, silent sans the wind howling outside and the creaks of the cabin.  Dean stayed glued to Sam who refused to do much aside from stare over his brother’s head and inspect every detail of the shattered bottle on the floor.  Dean, mind muddled and hazed, and Sam, thinking a mile a minute and panicking inwardly, both brothers were unsure of what to do next.

 

“I’m sorry.  I’m, I’m really sorry.  You weren’t, weren’t supposed.  It was.  I’m.”  Dean stumbled his words, tears beginning to form as he clung tighter to his older brother, the high of drunk crashing to the floor and being replaced with a flood well of a emotions he tried his best to shove to the very back of his mind.  The guilt and regret mixing into a horrible concoction and Dean wanted to disappear.

 

“It’s…  It’s okay Dean.”  At the broken pitch of Dean’s voice Sam’s anger dissipated, instead feeling tired and worn and wanting nothing more than to comfort his brother.

 

“No it’s not.  I’m, I’m disgusting.  I shouldn’t even.”  Before Dean could finish Sam cut him off, arms wrapping tight around him and hands rubbing his back soothingly.

 

“Stop Dean.  You’re not disgusting.”

 

“I am.”  Dean croaked into Sam’s neck, fingers curling tight into his shirt and delighting in Sam holding him close, surrounding him easy with his larger frame.  Still, everything was finally tumbling down on his young mind and even the comfort of Sam barely quelled him.

 

“ _You’re not_.”  Sam said, right into Dean’s ears and Dean shivered, breath hitching and body shivering.  “You’re not wrong.”  One hand sweeping to his lower back, the other creeping up his side to cup Dean’s cheek, pulling him just far away enough to look him in the eye.  “You’re not disgusting.”  Voice gentle as he pressed their foreheads together, Dean averting his gaze to the ground and mouth frowning deeply.  Sam shushed his quiet whines, thumb rubbing softly.  “Nothing’s wrong with you Dean.  Nothing.”  He said finitely, a kiss placed on Dean’s forehead as he waited his brother’s tears out.

 

Dean was unsure of how to feel, overwhelmed by Sam’s tender touches and warm hold.  Sam was wrong, because Dean was dirty.  Somewhere in his brain he was a bit dented and nothing could fix him and Sam was just lying to him.  Sam didn’t know, Sam was just trying to make him feel better because that’s just what Sam did.  Always looked out for him and along the way Dean misinterpreted it and twisted it into something wrong and sick, depraved to the point of lusting after his older brother in ways he shouldn’t be and Sam just didn’t seem to understand how bad it was.  And yet Sam held him through his misery, a hand rubbing circles into his back and a thumb catching the tears that fell.

 

“I dream of you fucking me.”  Dean said with a gasp, head bowed and voice miserable.  “I want things I shouldn’t want.”  He sounded broken and lost and Dean  _was_ , he had been harboring these feelings for years and he couldn’t handle it anymore.  “I want you to kiss me, and I want you to touch me and Sam I’m fucked up.”  Dean said with a final break in his words, tears flowing full force because he was so fucked, screwed to Timbuktu and back and there was nothing anyone could do to fix it.

 

“Fuck.”  Sam whispered harshly, and Dean had no time to wonder what that meant before he was pulled into a kiss made purely of carnal want that left him breathless because no matter how wild his fantasies got they never prepared him for this.  The way Sam plundered his mouth, licking into every crevice and corner as if he owned the place and making Dean’s knees weak and brain melt.  The edge of the alcohol seemed to ebb away with each nip to his lips, Sam’s kiss gentling as did the liquors effect.  All that was left was the scorching heat his older brother’s hands seemed to leave on his body, points of jumbled nerves that made Dean want to jump out of his skin because this was all so much, so sudden.  His mind unable to follow the speed of which everything went from _wrongbad_  to  _wrongright_.

 

“God you’re so fucking…”  Sam muttered, pulling away to examine every detail of his brother’s face, both hands holding Dean in place as his thumbs rubbed mindlessly against Dean’s cheeks.

 

“Sam?”  Dean asked, worried and small.  He wasn’t sure what was happening, ability to think returning slower than a snail’s pace and Sam was just  _staring_  at him, making him anxious and fidgety.

 

“You’re not fucked up.  I, damn it, I’m.”  Sam stumbled over his words, hands slipping from Dean’s face to land on his hips, a small noise slipping from Dean at the action.  The older brother seemed at a lost for something to say, nose fuming as he breathed deeply, hand’s shaking and digging into Dean where they held him.  Dean’s face burned at the sensation, flashes of hopeful bruises and demanding hands bright in his mind, breath stuttering in his chest as warmth flushed south.

 

“Can we both be fucked up?”  Dean asked quietly, looking up through his lashes at Sam and resting his hands on his brother’s biceps.  His lips still burned from the seething kiss Sam gave him earlier, body aching for more of that rough attention.  Hips pressing forward against Sam, sly grin finding Dean’s face upon finding his brother equally hard.  Perhaps it was the left over buzz giving him the courage to put himself out like this, or maybe Sam’s return of affection, or is it that he was still wearing nothing but Sam’s shirt and his briefs.

 

“What?”  Sam answered, obviously not catching on to what Dean was saying.

 

“We.  We can both be a little screwed, right?”  Dean began to lean up on to the tip of his toes, fingers bunching the cloth of Sam’s jacket.  Sam also started to subconsciously lean closer, eyes now locked on Dean’s lips while Dean carefully catalogued every emotion flickering in Sam’s eyes.  Nothing but want and hunger burning in the hazel hues and Dean gained just enough balls to kiss Sam again, eyes closing and relaxing into Sam’s body.

 

A few seconds and nothing except Dean’s heart racketing and blood pounding in his ears, panic about to take over as thoughts of running as far away as possible began to crop up.  He nearly did spring away, until Sam finally kick started into action, pushing forward until Dean was curled back, the only thing keeping him stable Sam’s hands.  Which, wow, Dean found pretty damn hot, gasping into the kiss and pushing harder into Sam’s solid body.  Funny that as horrified as Dean felt earlier it was becoming completely wiped from memory, replaced by large hands and consuming need.  Everything a whirlwind of want encased by the fact that he would actually be getting what he’s craved for so long.

 

“Sam, Sammy, please— I don’t.”  Dean practically begged, because he may have wanted this for as long as he could remember, getting it was vastly different from what he had ever hoped and he needed guidance, direction.  He wanted Sam to touch every part of him, reach into his deepest secrets and tell him it’s all okay.  He wanted Sam to be rough with him, wanted to be bruised and stretched but he didn’t know how to ask, didn’t know clearly what he wanted aside from Sam and his teeth and tongue, marking him as Sam put him how he wanted, taking him fast and hard and leaving nothing left to imagination.  It was elating and ineffable as he realized he would get to have that, he could have all of it and then some, that Sam felt it alongside him and would return it all whole heartedly.

 

“I got you Dean, it’s okay, I got you.”  Sam spoke, low and rough and the timber went straight to Dean’s dick.  He clung desperately to Sam’s shoulders, shaking and clumsy with need, his head nodding along because Sam’s always had him, always put his all when it came to Dean, it wouldn’t be any different now.

 

“Please.”  Dean repeated, over and over in a small voice, pleading.  He heard Sam make some affirming noise, as if he understood finally and then his hands shifted course from his back and head down low to his ass and thighs.  Dean jumped, sensitive and moaning low, Sam’s hands on his bare legs electrifying and his palms large almost covering half his entire ass.  They kneaded the flesh a moment, getting a feel for them and making Dean shiver and fret where he stood, breath heavy and hands clenching bruises into Sam.  The grip shifted and suddenly he was lifted, legs being directed to wrap around Sam’s waist and Dean complied quick and easy, grinding down as they moved, Sam walking them to the bedroom and it’s large bed that smelled just like his older brother.  Crunching glass could be heard as the mess was left behind in the kitchen, forgotten as Sam rushed to get Dean down on his back so he could really show him the works.

 

Dean bit at Sam’s neck, sucking and licking before he was torn away from the forming bruise to be tossed on the bed, landing on his bed with a soft ‘ooph’.  He looked up, ready to chastise Sam for the move but stopped short when he caught sight of his brother in the midst of yanking his clothes off.  Jacket already lost and shirt being pulled up and over his head in a neat little move.  Jeans unbuttoned and Dean’s mouth went drier than a desert.  With every lost article of clothing more and more of Sam’s body was revealed and as often as he had seen it before, now he was truly allowed to  _look_ , to appreciate, and he found he never wanted something so bad than he did now.  The jeans were pulled down and off, kicked into some random direction, leaving Sam naked aside from his briefs and judging by the mound forming in them, his big brother really was a big boy.

 

“Jesus that’s…”  Dean muttered, leaning up on his elbows and nervously looking between his brothers hard on and his own spread legs.  That wouldn’t, he figured, that wouldn’t ever possibly fit, but he found in his current state he didn’t care, that apparently, it only excited him more.  The idea of that monster of a dick stretching him wide and full and leaving room for nothing else.  Shivers ran through his frame when Sam finally got on the bed, crawling to where Dean was and fitting himself between Dean’s legs, holding himself up by his forearms and looking down at Dean with a mix of awe and dark hunger.  One that spoke of devouring Dean’s whole being and Dean readily agreed with it, arching his body towards Sam and hoping his own eyes conveyed his want, his submission to whatever Sam chose to do with him.

 

Neither of them spoke, the moment far too large for anything that either of them could have said to truly explain much of anything they felt so they just went with it.  Both leaning in for a chaste kiss, a delicate press of the lips that struck cords that this was really happening, Sam realizing perhaps this was what had caused Dean’s foul behavior, and Dean, ecstatic and crazed with joy that he could have this.  Could finally be allowed to feel Sam’s body with his hands and taste his flesh, show his affections and drown in Sam’s.  It was freeing, these thoughts, and Dean suddenly felt really excited for the main course, pushing harder into the kiss and letting his hands wander up and down Sam’s back, shaping out the map of scars and muscles.

 

Sam growled at that, kneeling up and away quick and fast to grab at Dean’s wrist and slam them down by his head, fingers encircling their span easy with room to spare and it made Dean groan, precome messing up his shorts as he arched up, panting open mouthed while Sam leaned down to lay waste to his neck.  With every sharp bite Dean felt himself drawing closer, legs shaking where they held themselves at Sam’s midsection, hands clenching and pulling against Sam’s hold weakly.  If his actions weren’t bad enough, Sam was talking, praising Dean for how beautiful he looked in Sam’s shirt, his freckles and eyes and lips and then moved on to say how much he loved him, how amazing he thought he was and Dean came with a keening whimper.

 

Dean panted open mouthed up at the ceiling, body shaking with aftershocks and briefs a sticky mess clumping to him.  Everywhere was fire and his brain putty and it only took him a few minutes to notice Sam staring down at him with a scrunched brow.  Which, what?  Dean just came harder than he’s ever had, the real deal better than his wild imagination and definitely blowing to the wind his own hand, so as he was still coming down from his high he had little to go on as to why Sam looked like he was about to either laugh himself to death or continue his actions with twice the amount of heat behind them.

 

“…What?”  Dean asked slowly, fingers flexing where they were held by his head and neck a center of pain pleasure, littered with marks that seemed to be leading down to his chest if the perpetrator hadn’t stopped to stare dumbly at their target.

 

“You, I forgot, uhm, I.”  Sam stumbled his words, face somehow redder than what Dean assumed his own was.  His older brother kneeled up, releasing his wrists and scratching the back of his head while coughing awkwardly.  Seriously, he knew Sam could be weird but Dean thought they were both on the same page here, had no idea why Sam suddenly got nervous now when before he seemed the farthest from it.

 

“What?”  Dean snapped, letting his legs fall back to the bed and leaning up on his elbows, irritated and partially worried Sam was going to ditch and never say anything to him again.

 

“I uhm.”  Sam chuckled hollowly, smiling sardonically and looking off to the side a moment, obviously holding back amusement.

 

“Dude,  _what_?”

 

“I didn’t even touch your dick.”  Sam said quietly, chest huffing out a weird pattern and Dean knew he was holding in laughter, the bastard.  Dean squinted his eyes, mouth hanging open before his face flushed in embarrassment, biting his lower lip and suddenly feeling real self-conscious of what he was wearing.  Did he really come that fast?  Recalling it felt like everything was going on forever, every sensation new and encompassing and only made a thousand times better by the fact it was Sam giving him these experiences he had never felt before.  But now that he focused he saw it was only a few minutes of Sam holding him down and giving some attention to his neck, which meant damn it all Dean came real fast.

 

“That’s, that’s completely, I, but it was, you were, I.”  It was now Dean’s turn to bumble about, moving to get up and go sit in a corner ashamed because the moment finally came, the impossible moment where Dean was given something he thought he would never have and bam, he blew it in five minutes or less, figuratively and literately.  He only made it a few inches up before Sam was chasing him back down, arms either side of his head and lower body pressing Dean’s hard into the bed.  The weight made Dean’s dick perk up again, beginning to fill because  _hello_  hot as sin older brother on top of him here, pressing him down with a cock that must be a lie because no ones that big, not even those porn stars in all of those videos Dean’s watched were that large.

 

“No, no it’s fine, it’s okay, I mean,” Sam paused to lean down and kiss at his jaw line, nibbling a bit before continuing, “it’s perfectly normal.”  He provided, and, as much as that may be true, it still was a jab at Dean’s pride.  A major, sharp, stinging jab that made him want to hide under the covers and never come out, ever.  This was where he cursed the age difference between he and Sam, where Sam was an adult with experience on his hands, Dean was only sixteen and was often so busy thinking of Sam was never able to chase anyone else long enough to get any practice time in.  He was pretty much lost in a swath of new feelings and it wasn’t really fair to find it funny at all.  He wasn’t being defensive.

 

“You’re laughing.”  Dean stated miserably, turning his head away to look at the pillows and Sam above him with the patient smile and supposedly comforting gestures wasn’t doing anything but make his embarrassment worse.

 

“No I’m not.”  Sam said, hands now creeping up his sides, rumpling the shirt as they caressed and stroked, making Dean’s muscles jump and twitch, body twisting towards the touches for more despite his distress.

 

“You were.”

 

Sam sighed, hanging his head a moment before capturing Dean’s lips in a hungry kiss, all licks and nips and making Dean forget momentarily where he was, moaning into Sam’s mouth and hands gripping the sheets tightly.  Dean pulled back with a gasp, letting his head thump back against the pillow, and for a second Sam’s distraction plan almost worked, but then Dean was hard again and that lead to realizing exactly  _why_  he had to be hard  _again_.

 

“No, no, I, you’re not getting away with, just, no.”  Dean murmured, making to get up again because Sam laughed and he was embarrassed and wanted to be allowed the right to hide in a hole for a while.

 

“I think it’s kinda’ cute.”  Sam mumbled, almost imperceptible that Dean had to do a take back to make sure he heard it right.

 

“Well  _I_  think it’s kind of  _not_  cute.”  Because, no, no it was the farthest thing there was from cute, it was embarrassing and proof that Dean was an inexperienced kid compared to Sam and just no, Sam would not get to call it cute.

 

“No seriously it’s, well.”  Sam paused, giving Dean’s face a once over before leaning in close, biting at his ear and delighting in the shiver that ran through Dean.  “It would be fun to see how many times I can make you come before you beg me to stop.”  And woah, hold on, take a step back.  Dean’s face immediately flushed, brain stopping and heart deciding the circus was its new aspiration in life because he has never heard Sam sound like that.  His body readily agreed with his heart that fuck everything else nothing would be hotter than the way Sam sounds when he speaks like that and Dean would drop to his knees and beg if it meant he could get more of that.  Screw his embarrassment, if him having absolutely no current ability to last longer than a few minutes made Sam say that?  Dean was on board.  He’d be the first mate, cabin boy, and captain all in one.

 

“Yeah.  Yeah that’s. Okay, that’s okay.”  Dean said numbly, eyes wide and watching with fascination Sam scoot back, pupils swallowing his iris’s and leaving nothing but a void of hunger and want and yeah, Dean was fine, absolutely one hundred percent fine.  He let Sam pull his shorts off, his dick popping out and slapping against his belly, precome already slicking the head and he almost grimaced at the sick plop his briefs made when Sam tossed them to the floor.  But then Sam leaned down and swallowed him down in one move with no preamble and  _holy shit_  Dean was not ready for that.  His legs jumped up, fitting themselves over Sam’s shoulders and his back snapped upwards, mouth hanging open as he moaned high and long, hands clinging to Sam’s hair in bundles.

 

Dean’s desperate tugging at Sam’s hair seemed to only make the older brother more excited, low groans leaving him in rumbles which only made everything better, the vibrations going right to his dick and if Dean thought everything was vivid and too much before he was wrong, so very dead wrong because he thinks blow jobs might possibly be his new favorite thing ever.  He didn’t want to think about how Sam got so good, but he’s praising to the stars and back whoever taught Sam because it seemed his brother knew just what to do to make Dean’s brain melt through his ears.  Even though Dean thought he could hold out a little longer there was no chance, no way in hell, that he would last any longer, not with Sam licking and sucking and using just the right amount of pressure to ignite nerves he didn’t know were even there.

 

He came a second time with a loud shout, expecting Sam to pull off, only to be met with Sam swallowing  _that_  easy and quick also making his body shake with an even larger aftershock, his mind deciding now would be a good time to leave this plane because there was nothing else it would ever need again.  Dean couldn’t get a hold on much, heart erratic in its pace and legs shaking, hands sore from how hard they were balled, and to top it off his brother was just making these happy little sounds as he slurped everything down.  Sam shouldn’t ever do that, Dean decided, it wasn’t fair, it was too much and he should stop before Dean’s body decides to just go AWOL.

 

Sam pulled off him with a quiet pop, large hands massaging Dean’s thighs where he could reach and kissing the inner most sensitive parts.  Dean jerked with each little kiss, unable to do much else aside from pant and look at Sam like he was the single most important thing in the universe.  Which, to Dean, he was.

 

“Liked that baby?”  Sam asked, low and confident and he already knew the answer so why was he even bothering with asking?  Half expecting himself to get annoyed with the pet name, Dean was pleasantly surprised to find it only made his dick try to rev up and join the party again.  It was an overused cheesy one yes, but at the same time it made his chest fill with warmth and well, he liked it, plain and simple.

 

Sam seemed to expect some sort of answer, and Dean found that funny because he thought his awe-filled look was enough of a response to make his older brother happy.  Obviously not, because Sam didn’t seem like he would do anything more unless he spoke up.  Hands warm and firm, but still and unmoving where they were on his upper thighs.  Dean gave a small whining sound because he didn’t want to say anything, afraid his voice would sound dumb and small and give away everything he was feeling.  But if he wanted to get more of what he was feeling he would have to speak, quite a wonderful catch-22 really.

 

“Yeh-,” a pause to clear his throat because he sounded hoarse and rough, “Yes.  I, please.  Please Sammy.”  He didn’t like this begging bit, it made his heart thump painfully and his face burn with arousal dipped shame.  It was confusing and he wasn’t sure he could handle it, he wasn’t sure he could handle anything Sam threw his way tonight but he would rather go to hell and back then stop now because of some fringed nerves.

 

No response from Sam was given, he only smiled low and small before getting up on his knees, letting Dean’s legs fall boneless around him and reaching over with one huge hand to cup his little brother’s spent dick.  It hurt, kind of, but at the same time it felt really freaking good —not as good as the blow job but still—and it made Dean both arch towards and away from his touch, drawing his knees up and wider so Sam would have more room to work.  And man did Sam work, hand nearly encasing his entire cock because it was unrightfully big and strong and knew just where to press and pull and even if it was almost dry, the spit from earlier drying, the pressure and drag was amazing and Dean was hard again in no time.  Breath catching in his throat and hands pulling at the sheets hard enough Dean was positive he could hear some threads beginning to rip.

 

Sam moved back over Dean, hand still going nice and slow over Dean’s dick, his other planting itself by his brother’s head.  He veered in close, muscles working in his arms and chest while he pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead, moving down to his nose and cheek until Dean who was previously burying his head into his shoulder to muffle any sounds now faced him.  His eyes were glazed over and lids heavy, eyelashes a dark smudge against his cheekbones and lips swollen red and shining with spit.  Dean’s hair, often styled up, was weighed down by sweat and sticking to his forehead and if Sam had the extra hand he’d probably be running a hand through it.

 

“Look at you, so sensitive.  This is all new, isn’t it?”  Sam asked, voice heavy with lust and pretty much everything Dean figured he’d be addicted to now.  Dean’s pretty sure that now he got a taste of what Sam’s like here, what having Sam is like, he wouldn’t be able to live without it.  He tried his best to keep his eyes closed, because the picture of Sam leaning over him, miles of muscle and tanned skin littered with scars, with his eyes trained solely on him would probably be too much and he’d blow again and he really did mean it when he said it was starting to hurt.

 

“Anyone else ever touch you?”  Questioned Sam, head tilting as if he was inspecting Dean carefully, like there was more he could get if he looked hard enough and the scrutiny only made Dean’s dick pulse, mouth hanging open on each gasp for breath and hands laying limply by his head.  Dean could only manage a weak shake, body zinging with pleasure and jerking with each stroke.  Sam was the first person to ever get him like this, lost in carnal desires, dropping all pretenses of dignity and letting everything go.  His older brother made it real easy to forget the world, with his sure hands and strong body, confident smile that made Dean’s knees lock and lungs empty themselves.

 

"No?"  Sam said softly, tone inquisitive and his strokes suddenly came to a stop, thumb barely rubbing the head which only made Dean let out a long whine, upset at the sudden halt.  Didn’t Sam have some sort of plan, overload Dean’s senses, that sort of stuff?  What was with the pause?

 

"I asked you a question Dean."  Came the clarification and Dean groaned out his annoyance, because why the hell does that stupid question even need an answer?  Sam certainly knows he’s the first person to ever come this far with Dean, and so Dean saw it an incredibly large waste of their very valuable time.  But then Sam kept staring at him expectantly, hand just casually sitting there on his little brothers dick like it had every right to not be moving and not be showing Dean a whole new world of pleasure.

 

"Well?"

 

“ _Jesus_ , alright, fuck,  _yes_ , no one else has ever put their god damned hands on my dick now will you  _please_ , just fucking continue?”  Dean snapped, voice too breathless and strung out to really be as angry and demanding as he hoped but he put an effort forth and figured he should get something for that at least.  Sam seemed pleased enough with his answer, hand resuming now at a far quicker, rougher pace, leaving Dean whiplashed in comparison to the slower way Sam was playing him earlier.  Not fair, at all, that Sam was able to keep surprising him with newer, better sensations each time.  Then again, this being his first time, it probably wasn’t too hard to shock him at all.  Still.

 

Sam moved to press Dean’s left thigh against his chest, stretching his little brother wide and giving a delicious view of his pretty little hole clenching with each burst of pleasure.  Dean moaned at the stretch, embarrassment only a momentary thought before being thrown out the window and trampled down by -is that Sam’s hand where he thinks it is.  Just one fingertip barely brushing his damp hole and Dean came for the third time, body arching and legs jerking, almost landing a kick on Sam’s face because as much as it felt really, really fucking amazing, it also burned and stung some.  His vision even grayed a little at the edges, everything going out of focus and sequence as his come striped his lower belly and Sam’s hand.

 

He clocked back in a few moments —or minutes, or maybe hours, he doesn’t know or really care— later, licking his dry licks and trying to find something, anything, he could possibly say.  This was more than he ever dreamed of getting, and he thought right now would be a good place to stop and get some resting time in, conveniently forgetting anything Sam’s said because he’s exhausted and feels too loose to really fit in his own skin right now which frankly was a terrifying feeling.  He was positive however that if he were to go to bed right now and die in his sleep, he would be perfectly fine with it.

 

He thinks he would have fallen asleep a few seconds later if it wasn’t for the suddenly very cold and slick fingers prodding at his entrance shocking him back to some form of lucidity.  He immediately arched up and away, a confused noise slipping from him and he really did try his best to scramble away, but then Sam pressed one hand to his belly and held him there with his strength and weight combined, the swift move causing Dean’s body to shake and shiver.  Not to mention the ache that followed, considering that the show of size only made his body try to get back in on the action, and taking into account he has just come three times it stopped being happy fun times with a dash of pain and more of ‘okay maybe we should apply the brakes’.

 

"Hey sh, it’s okay."  Sam whispered into his cheek, kissing it softly when Dean whined still at Sam’s numbing circles being rubbed over his hole, "come on baby, know you can take it, just one more time and we’ll be done."  They were supposed to be soothing, comforting, but the idea of one more time was as exciting as it was terrifying.  Despite his objections his dick was already half hard, jerking and twitching when Sam very slowly pushed one finger in, the stretch new and exhilarating and momentarily distracting Dean.

 

The younger brother pushed into the hand unwillingly, gasping open mouthed and staring wide eyed at the ceiling as the finger slid to the final knuckle.  Dean realized right then how painfully and vastly different taking it up the ass instead of fantasizing about it was.  It wasn’t a bad difference, more of a hey-ho that’s new and strange and oh god Sam began moving about, face scrunched in concentration and Dean hadn’t much time to figure what he was apparently searching for in his ass of all things when suddenly everything seemed to explode.  Sparks like fireworks going off behind his eyes and a loud, broken off moan ripped through the air, and it took him a few moments to realize that was him who had made that sound.

 

It was like Sam combined the blowjob, handjob, and a whole other mesh of things together and crammed them into one small, tight little space that he only had to brush his finger over to get Dean writhing and begging.  Which, oh, he was.

 

“Sam.  _Sammy_ , whah… what was that, it was, again, please, please, _please_ again.”  He mumbled incoherently, deciding that even if his body was yelling ‘no more’ his dick was louder with it cries for ‘more please’ and with his brain away on vacation he was far more tempted to listen to his nether regions over his body any day.  Sam looked a bit surprised with his pleas, eye brows raised as he began to slowly add a second finger while Dean was distracted.

 

“You’ve never played with yourself in here?”  Sam enunciated with a few more hard jabs at his prostate, leaving Dean a quivering mess of moans and whines, both legs pressed tight to his chest and spreading himself open.

 

“No.”  Dean kept repeating, the word useless and dumb and he wasn’t sure what it meant anymore, just knew that Sam now had two fingers inside of him and they were thick and long and getting up deep where he’s never had the balls to explore before, sparking nerves and lighting fires along the way.

 

“Does it feel good?”  Sam asked, suddenly three fingers stretching wide and fucking into him and Dean’s pretty sure his heart is going to give out on him.

 

“Yes.”  He carried on the antics of resaying the word until all of its meaning was lost, barely scraping enough brain cells together to give Sam an answer so he wouldn’t stop, would keep pushing into him and giving Dean more of these addictive shocks that made his body twist and turn for more.

 

“Want big brother to fuck you?”

 

“ _Yes_.”  Dean cried with a full body shudder, Sam’s question whispered dirty and hot into his ear and that’s what he’s wanted for so long and Sam was offering it and there was nothing that was going to stop Dean from getting this.  His eyes drifted shut and one arm draped itself over his face, listening numbly to Sam shift about, cloth falling to the floor and wet sounds that Dean guessed was his brother prepping himself.  Dean was barely containing himself, mind a hazy electrical current of Sam, throat working hard as he let himself be pulled closer to Sam.  His legs were hooked onto Sam’s elbows, ass pointed up as something large and blunt pressed at his slick entrance.

 

Dean thought a moment to beg Sam to hurry up, to perhaps just push backwards and force Sam in, but then Sam started to move forward nice and slow, giving Dean time to adjust and the burn that came with it rekindled Dean’s previous idea.  It hurt, hurt worse than getting thrown about on a hunt, but at the same time, there was an insatiable pleasure building, slowly filling in every crevice and corner of Dean’s whole being and alerting him to the knowledge that once this initial stretch was taken care of, things were going to be really fucking good.

 

“You okay?”  Sam asked softly once he was fully in, nose nuzzling Dean’s, Dean just now noticing he had shut his eyes tight, small hurt noises slipping from him as he bit his lips hard enough for a small bead of blood to peak through.  Dean couldn’t possibly answer Sam, because he was okay, more than okay, but his voice would betray him and Sam would want to stop and that was not happening, not in a million years.  So in response Dean made a desperate sort of sound, leaning up to press a desperate kiss to Sam while being overwhelmed by the fact that was Sam inside him, twitching and huge and stretching wide and it hurt but it felt amazing and Dean needed Sam to move now.  He needed to be fucked hard until he couldn’t remember his name or what state he was in or where he was even born.

 

Sam seemed to get the memo, breaking away from Dean and pressing one gentle kiss to his forehead, soft and assuring, before pulling out and shoving back in with a rough jerk of his hips.  It felt more of a tester than the real deal, making sure Dean was fully stretched and ready because Sam was a big boy, but it still made Dean moan loud and clear, body snapping up and pushing back into Sam’s thrust.  The rhythm was awkward at first, stuttering and offbeat, Sam switching between hard, quick jab of his hips, then going slow and making sure Dean felt every inch of his big cock inside of him.  The strange set was making Dean grow impatient as it was turned on, and it only took a few more switch offs of Sam fucking in for Dean to realize Sam was giving him a taste of the two ways he could go about the main event, letting Dean set the tone.  The gesture was nice, making Dean’s heart flutter out of its already irregular beat, but he wasn’t angling for the soft hearted, tender love making –that would be for later, no Dean was hoping for the rough play, and if Sam was willing to deliver, hallelujah.

 

“Sammy, please, want it hard.”  Was what Dean managed, and even though he had more words than that, his message carried across and in the next second Sam was pounding him into the mattress, dick filling him up and leaving room for nothing else but Sam.  Nearly every thrust landed the spot that made the world blot of from existence, and if Dean had enough time to get in more than a seconds worth of breath, he was positive he would be screaming.  Now that he was finally here, stuffed full of Sam and lying helpless and boneless beneath him, it was hard to believe, despite the way he very much felt every second, his brain was having trouble differentiating this from a hyper realistic dream.  He probably would think this was another dream, but then he would hear a groan or grunt from Sam, feel the desperate way his older brother clung to him, and realize that even in his fantasies he never played out Sam truly wanting him back.  Never being this wanting of him, and he was kind of really glad that this wasn’t like what he thought it would be, that it was far better than he ever hoped.

 

Words, distant to Dean’s ears were being spoken low and rough, and once Dean focused hard enough, he found they belonged to Sam, who was busy nipping and sucking bites into the parts of his chest that weren’t covered by his shirt.  They were similar praise to the ones Sam spoke previous, of how perfect Sam thought he was, how beautiful and smart and funny and Dean could only cry out weakly because it was all too much.  Sam was over him, holding him down with his strength and size, fucking into him with fierce jabs and telling him how he thought Dean was pretty and intelligent.  He was shocked he had already held out this long, so when orgasm number four hit it wasn’t too surprising.  The knowledge of it did nothing to dim it’s effects, the world simply leaving in a field vision of white as pleasure as gratifying as it was encaging weighed down to the bed, his limbs splaying easy for Sam who kept pounding into Dean, still speaking a steady stream of words that Dean’s brain who was still too busy melting and puddling about couldn’t be bothered ever again to make out.

 

Sam almost encroached on it becoming painful for him to keep fucking into Dean, the younger brother ready to make some weak complaint with what little speaking ability he had left before Sam finally came, seed spreading messy and wet inside of Dean and leaking out in thick glops when he pulled out.  It would have been disgusting, but Dean’s body was aching all over and his mind shut down and already half way to la-la land now that Sam was finished, so he could give a rat’s ass about personal hygiene at the moment.  Sam apparently did however, care about personal hygiene enough to leave and come back with a rag that was cold to the touch but after a few strokes on his skin became comforting and soothing and Dean made an agreeing noise while flopping onto his side, curling up and deciding all problems they would have to deal with later can and would be dealt with later.

 

Dean didn’t care to listen to Sam move about the room, only began paying attention when his brother slid up right behind him, body a furnace and Dean was right earlier when he figured he wouldn’t need a blanket ever if he slept with Sam.  He mumbled out a happy little sound when Sam wrapped his arms around him, fitting his body to Dean’s and hooking his chin on the top of Dean’s head.

 

“Dean?”  Sam asked softly and Dean only barely managed a response.

 

“What?”

 

“You okay with what happened?”  Of course Sam would have to ask, because Dean coming four times didn’t meant jack diddly squat apparently.  Dean didn’t bother responding, giving a loud groan he hoped got across his annoyance.

 

“You know we’re going to have to talk about this tomorrow Dean.”

 

“Yeah.”  Dean said, and he would be surprised if Sam even heard it, his voice soft as a whispers and might as well have just been his breath.

 

“You’re not getting out of drinking.” Dean didn’t care, couldn’t figure out how Sam thought he could possibly care right now, so instead of responding Dean turned over and shoved his face into Sam’s hard chest, giving a long sigh and snuggling close before closing his eyes for what he hoped was the last time tonight.

 

“You’re also going to have to clean up the broken glass.”

 

“And you’re also going to have to deal my foot up your ass.”  Dean snapped back tiredly, knowing it was only the exhaustion and lack of brain power that fueled the idea he could even threaten Sam with that.  His brother was twice his size and definitely more skilled in combat, but he heard John use that phrase once or twice and it seemed appropriate.  Sam seemed to shut up finally, hands rubbing up and down Dean’s back as he hummed softly.  How the hell was he even still awake?  Dean was too tired to even think clearly and yet here was Sam, in older brother mode with the chastising and warnings, but at least had enough sense to stop pestering him now.

 

"I love you.”  Sam said quietly, kissing the top of Dean’s head before closing his eyes himself and Dean thanked all the gods his brother was finally going to sleep.

 

 “Yeah, I love you too, now can we please sleep?”  Dean responded only out of necessity, because it was rude to not respond when someone told you that, and not because his heart gave a jump and somewhere where he was still partially awake he was singing praise when Sam said that.  Seriously though, he was tired as hell and everything would be dealt with later, once they both got their sleep and could wake up brighter than they had in months.  For Dean, it would be years, but he figured Sam probably had his own fair share of angst, maybe even more, considering he was the one charged with raising Dean.  They would have to have a lot of interesting conversations later.


End file.
